


Retrospection

by foxtrot77



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical language, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Implied Relationships, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 00:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14068785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtrot77/pseuds/foxtrot77
Summary: Temple sees a ghost.





	Retrospection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RiaTheDreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/gifts).



> For the RvB Angst War!

Temple watches as Carolina fumbles with the rifle in her arms, unable to quell the giggle that bubbles up and out of his throat.

“How the tables have turned, hm?” He cocks his head, trying to imagine the expression behind Carolina’s visor. Anger? Hatred? Fear? Temple’s giddy with all the possibilities.

They’re the only ones in Hangar C, the only other objects in the room a few crates and two gutted submarines. There’s glass beneath their feet, bluish-black water swirling below, the silver glint a fish or two flitting past every few minutes. Temple wishes the glass wasn’t bullet proof, because how poetic would that be: shooting the glass below Carolina, watching her fall into the ocean and drift away?

Either way, Temple isn’t worried about his chances. Carolina’s legs finally gave out a few minutes ago, and even though she’s scooting away from Temple, all it would take is a few long strides to catch up to her. And that gun might as well weigh ten tons, the way she’s trying to lift it.

It is Agent Carolina, of course, so Temple isn’t surprised when she finally brings the gun up against her shoulder, merely impressed.

Holstering his pistol, he opens his arms wide.

“I’ll give you three tries,” he offers, grinning behind his visor.

Carolina fires.

The bullet pings off the metal wall to Temple’s left and ricochets out of sight.

Growling, Carolina rips her helmet off, red hair falling in a fiery tangle as the visor sparks and goes dark, damaged somewhere along the way. Lots of bullets flying around tonight.

Temple stays completely still, relishing the butterflies in his stomach, savoring the game—playing with his food.

Carolina pulls the trigger again, and the bullet whizzes over Temple’s head. His heart skips a beat, but is hit with relief as Carolina, arms shaking, chest heaving, lowers her gun. Seeing her there, on the floor, exhausted and alone, Temple almost pinches himself to see if he’s dreaming.

He’s actually winning. Sure, freezing the Freelancers for several days in their armor gave him a bit of an advantage, but Temple’s never claimed to fight fair.

“What’s the matter, Agent Carolina?” Temple sneers. “Arms a bit stiff?”

“Fuck. You,” Carolina snarls, hefting her gun up and taking aim one last time.

It feels like someone punched Temple in the shoulder as the bullet slices through the top of his shoulder pad, barely grazing the skin but catching him off guard enough to knock him back a little. There’s a _thunk_ as the bullet embeds itself into one of the crates behind Temple. He looks over his shoulder at the crate, then back at Carolina, who’s looking at him with a smug smile playing at her lips.

Shoving the rage welling up in the pit of his stomach away, Temple slowly reaches down and unholsters his pistol.

“Close, but no cigar,” he says, taking aim at Carolina’s hand.

She fires off another shot, and Temple flinches, dodging left as the bullet hisses past his right ear.

“That’s not fair!” he snaps. “I said three tries!”

Temple counts his lucky stars that Carolina isn’t full strength, because if she’s still kicking after all this, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

He raises the gun once more and pulls the trigger, aiming at her head this time.

Temple cackles as the shot resonates through the hangar, not noticing the blur of orange until he hears the _thud_ of the bullet striking something metal, solid. It’s not at all what a head shot is supposed to sound like.

Choking on his laughter, Temple’s eyes widen in shock as he takes in the orange sim trooper standing between him and Carolina, swaying as he looks down at the blood blooming from the wound in his gut. The orange soldier collapses as Temple’s pistol slips from his hand. The sound of him smacking against the ground and the clatter of the gun skittering across the floor match up almost perfectly.

Carolina screams something, but Temple can’t hear her over the ringing in his ears, can’t see anything but the blood staining the glass floor, turning it pink.

 “Biff?” The name comes out hoarse, rusty from disuse.

Temple squeezes his eyes shut and opens them, dread making his limbs heavy as lead as he realizes the scene before him isn’t going away.

It’s just like last time.

Or is this still the same day, and time has only now started to move again?

Or maybe it’s just another iteration of one of his nightmares, the one where he’s the one who throws the flagpole. But this time he just pulls a trigger, and his gun does the throwing.

Frozen in place, curling his shaking hands into fists, Temple watches Carolina drag herself over to the orange sim trooper, calling out to him. Temple realizes he’s still breathing—he’s still breathing this time, and he releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, hope propelling him forward.

He can fix this. He can make it right this time.

Temple is not watching his friend fucking die again.

#

Grif reaches up, covering his face with his arms, tensed and ready for Temple to pounce. Flinching, he waits for more bullets, fists, feet. When they don’t come, he opens his eyes a little wider, widens them as Temple kneels next to him, his knees smacking against the metal floor.

Once he realizes Temple isn’t about to kill him, for some goddamn reason, Grif turns his attention to the more pressing issue, which is he’s been shot in the motherfucking gut.

“Fuck,” Grif wheezes.

He tries to sit up, but a combination of intense, searing pain shooting through his stomach, and Temple, forcing him gently back to the ground, foils him pretty quickly.

“Don’t move, Biff, you’ll just make it worse,” Temple says.

Grif looks up at Temple, blinking, trying to focus. What is this guy’s deal? Isn’t he the one who shot him in the first place? Did he just call him _Biff_? At least Caboose gets the G-R-I-F right before he adds the extra F.

Grif gasps as another white-hot wave of pain sweeps through his body, and he slams his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning.

“Shit,” Temple mutters, and Grif feels a slight pressure on his wound as Temple moves his hands over it to try and stop the bleeding.

It doesn’t do much good, and Grif watches, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Temple removes his hands from his stomach, blue armor stained a glittering red. He fumbles for something at his belt, and moments later produces a can of biofoam.

“Hang on,” Temple says.

Grif sees an aqua blur move up behind them—Carolina. He waits for her to shoot Temple, but she doesn’t. She just crouches there, gun resting in her lap, watching as Temple opens the can of biofoam and holds it over the bullet hole in Grif’s stomach.

“What is it with everyone today?” Grif murmurs, closing his eyes.

There’s a hiss, and Grif’s eyes snap open. He looks down, expecting to see the pink foam coagulating at his gut. But all he sees is more blood, and a feeling of dread starts to slink up his spine as reality sets in.

The can’s empty.

The can’s empty, and Grif is going to bleed out.

“No!” Temple curses, hurls the can of biofoam away.

Grif bites the insides of his cheeks, hoping to distract himself, but it feels like a kiss compared to the pain he feels in his stomach. God, at least he was knocked out cold when the tank hit him. Grif wonders if this is how it felt for Tucker when he got stabbed, and he grins at the thought of them comparing scars. Though, Grif thinks he’ll probably win, because he’s got scars all over and he’s like, half Simmons, so.

Not that it’s a contest or anything.

Not that Grif will ever get a chance to compete in the not-contest.

“I’m so sorry, Biff,” Temple says, putting his hands back over Grif’s wound.

“Yeah, sorry, I just got here like an hour ago?” Grif pauses to catch his breath. “Uh, who the shit is Biff?”

Grif’s question falls on deaf ears as Temple babbles on.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve—”

Temple is cut off as he’s knocked away, tackled to the ground in a tangle of maroon and cobalt.

“Get the fuck away from him!”

Simmons.

Grif shifts his head to the left in time to see Simmons deck an unmoving Temple in the face hard enough to knock his helmet off. He didn’t even use his cyborg arm. Pride wells up in Grif’s chest and he smiles.

That was Bad Ass.

For a nerd.

Face exposed, Temple still doesn’t move to defend himself, and instead looks over at Grif, eyes wild and miles away.

“Gene, Gene, look,” Temple breathes, smiling up at Simmons. “Look, it’s Biff, he’s alive!”

“Name’s Grif, dammit,” Grif groans, rolling his eyes. Carolina’s beside him now, calling out to someone Grif can't see.

“That’s not Biff, dumbass,” Simmons says. “And I’m Simmons, dammit. Simmons!”

“Wha?” Temple’s brows knit together, and his eyes come into focus as he turns his attention to Grif once more. He raises his eyebrows and laughs, “No, that’s him, see? His armor’s orange.”

“No, _Grif’s_ armor is orange,” Simmons snaps. “Biff’s dead remember? Skewered like, uh, like cheese with a-a toothpick!”

“Great one… Simmons,” Grif snorts, wincing. Laughing hurts. Simmons should stop making him laugh.

“Dead?” Temple blinks. “No he, he’s…”

Recognition spreads across Temple’s face then, and his eyes go dark and his face contorts—angry and ugly.

“You tricked me,” Temple growls, glaring at Grif, chest heaving.

“Holy… shit,” Grif says. “You’ve lost… your goddamn marbles.”

Temple makes a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob, and he starts struggling against Simmons, throwing random punches until one catches Simmons in the jaw. Simmons squawks and loses his balance, falling backwards as Temple clambers to his feet.

Yanking a knife from its holster on his thigh, Temple takes a step towards Grif.

He only makes it that one step.

There’s a _bang_ and blood bursts out and blooms like a flower from Temple’s chest. Grif hears a clatter as the knife hits the floor, but he doesn’t see where it lands. His eyes are glued to Temple. Temple coughs and collapses to a kneeling position. He looks down, eyes wide, at the hole in his armor, and then he turns his head, dazed, to locate his attacker. Grif follows his gaze, and finds Simmons, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, pistol clutched in his hands, still raised and ready.

“Oh no the fuck you don’t,” Simmons says.

Grif watches, as Temple smiles, looking up at the ceiling.

“You got me this time!” Temple calls up to the ceiling. “Good one.”

Then he falls forward, arms and legs splayed out awkwardly, face turned toward Grif. His eyes are lifeless, ghost of his smile fading. Grif looks away.

A cool sensation spreads across Grif’s stomach then, like he’s been tossed into the sea on a sweltering day, and the pain begins to subside. He’s so relieved, he doesn’t even care when the painkillers make his legs go numb. Glancing down, he sees Doc is there, biofoam in hand, medkit at his side.

“’Bout time,” he mumbles.

The last thing he sees before sinking into darkness is the fuzzy maroon blur hovering above him, calling out his name.

The last thing he remembers is Temple’s smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I was prompted by RiaTheDreamer (@riathedreamer on Tumblr): "Temple calls Grif 'Biff'."
> 
> Thank you sooooo much for sending this to me, there were so many different things I wanted to do with it! Don't be surprised if I revisit this topic in the future >:D
> 
> Just a general note, I am sorry if I didn't get to your prompt this Angst War, and I appreciate everyone who sent one in. Thank you!


End file.
